


I Spun a Song

by AwkwardSilence



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Broody Fenris, Classical Music, Dropped into the world of DA (no previous knowledge), F/M, Fighting and Dragon Age levels of gore, Following the storyline but not really, Hidden Powers, Hurt and comfort, Multi, OC is a singer, OC is from our world, Rivals to Lovers, Self-Insert, Slow Burn, So much angst, Some sexy? IDK lmao, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28680369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardSilence/pseuds/AwkwardSilence
Summary: If there was one thing that Ivynell hadn’t expected to happen on the day of her final recital as a student, it was definitely finding herself transported to the worst medieval-fantasy-land city in the entire universe.Ivynell Stone was so close to becoming a valued artist--a performer with a doctorate in Vocal Performance. One more concert and she'd be singing in prestigious institutions all over the world...! Or at least she would be, if she wasn't pulled from her home rather cruelly in the worst way possible. Not to mention it was by someone who looked like they belonged at the last E3 Panel, but from about five years ago. Thrust into a world of magic, with no clue how to get back, Ivynell has to adjust to life in Thedas. But something is growing in the back of her mind--someone clearly chose to bring her specifically to this world, but why?She was almost too scared to find out.
Relationships: Bianca the Crossbow/Varric Tethras, Male Hawke/Isabela, Mild Anders/Original Character, Original Character/Fenris
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Out of Tune](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10271579) by [Calescent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calescent/pseuds/Calescent). 



If there was one thing that Ivynell hadn’t expected to happen on the day of her final recital as a student, it was definitely finding herself transported to the worst medieval-fantasy-land city in the entire universe.

To back up for clarity’s sake, and to have a continuity worth following, Ivynell Stone knew from a young age that despite whatever struggles came her way, she had to have been born under some sort of lucky star (if you believed in such things). Otherwise, her parents had blessed her with the best stage name she could’ve ever asked for. There were countless numbers of movies and TV shows about teens and young adults striving to become pop stars and musical sensations that she consumed as a child. Each story seemed to intrigue her more—her grandmother would say that she used to catch her taking too long in the bathroom, because even as a toddler she found she liked the acoustics and how it sounded when she sang. And it all seemed to blend together—a little bit of pop star Princess here, maybe a hip hop icon there—all these dreams filled her head with ideas of her perfect fantasy job... and all roads lead to a place she did not expect...

Classical music.

Traditionally sang, traditionally taught, it was something that the woman found she resonated with when she was first introduced to it by vocal coaches of her past. Ivy (Ivynell was to be used for formal events only) finally came to the conclusion that this was her choice career when the time to make college applications came around, and despite her family’s apprehension, she dove in full throttle, soaking up any information she learned like a sponge. This also careened her straight toward her master’s an ocean away from her home as soon as she got her undergrad. 

The stage was her safe place. Here... she was free.

Closing her eyes. Ivy took in the performance hall in the darkness of her mind. The hot lights made sweat bead on her forehead; she refused to wipe it off, to give in to the moment, breaking her posture... her presence would diminish with one gesture and so she remained still. Even without looking, she could feel the red velvet curtains, picture every sconce and architectural detail, even the specific molding on the boxes that lined the balcony of the eye catching and historic a theater. The music started, and she steadily inhaled, filling her diaphragm with air before piercing the silence of the hall with a crisp note. 

The lilting melody of a Fauré left her lips, a sigh in French as one measure smoothed into the next, the pianist accompanying her rubato tempo. This piece was never meant to be fast, or moving, and she emphasized this in the pull: the ebb and flow of the melodic line as her phrasing painted an idea of melancholic longing. Losing herself in the music, as she had only done a thousand times before, the final note left the confines of her mouth with a questioning murmur. Was this truly the end?

The accompaniment stopped, and as the reverb echoed in the hall, a small handful of individuals clapping brought her back down to reality. Her eyes opened and she readjusted her gaze to the expectant faces of her peers and her professor. 

“Marvelous my dear. That is certainly a showstopper!” The professor, an older gentleman by the name of Diggery Mattson, traversed the small space it took to bring him up onto the stage. “I know you’ve had your set list finalized for months, but...” already Ivynell knew what was coming. “Are you sure you don’t want to switch that piece out with the Mozart? It is a much more cheerful piece.”

“My set list is final, as I had you approve the order a month ago,” she stated, though it was polite she was still firm. The brunette wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, especially with someone she had become rather close to since arriving at grad school. “Thank you for your input, though.” He merely nodded, before bustling about the stage in his usual way, going to speak to the accompanist about lord knows what. As Ivynell moved to approach the edge of the stage, she was greeted by the other performers in her vocal studio.

“The last one, eh?” A curly black haired girl—Mariah—grinned up at her. “You’re more than ready. I thought for sure last year you were going to argue to graduate early.”

Soft pink lips pursed in annoyance. “I would have if it wasn’t “imperative” that I was in Opera Workshop for one more year.”

“You know no one could have been Dorabella, Ivy,” a sandy blonde haired male spoke next. Nate was a sophomore, but she didn’t know much else about him besides his voice. That was true with all of these people unfortunately. She nodded to him in response, humming a note of agreement before she began to stretch, going to grab her things. “Woah, wait a minute Ivy, you’re leaving?” 

“Yes Nate, I still have a few things I want to go over in my set list, and then I should probably go to bed early,” Ivynell sighed, shrugging on her jacket. It was a cold spring in London and she had no desire to catch a cold the eve of her most important collegiate performance. 

“To bed early?” Mariah snorted. “Overachiever., it’s only 5pm.”

“I’d hope you’d be at least this concerned when your time comes!” the brunette teased lightly, blue eyes narrowed in annoyance. 

“Well Steven and I were gonna go to Grim’s—“ the favorite pub of the college, “for drinks. You could stand a pint before whatever it is you do in that “premium” flat of yours.” 

“I practice, and beer will hardly help with that,” Ivy sighed, pursing her lips together as she collected her things. “Now it’s been lovely ladies and gentlemen, but I really do need to be going.” And with that the female stood, checking twice to make sure she had everything before waving a goodbye. 

“Wait, uh...” Steven, the only one who hadn’t spoken before tried to catch her attention, but the door was already closing behind her, and he sighed as his shoulders sagged. 

“You could have cut in at any time during that conversation,” Nate teased, raising an eyebrow. “If you like her so much you have to at least talk to her.”

“I—I... I’ll tell her tomorrow. I’m sure.” His resolve only earned him Mariah’s rolled eyes, knowing that it wasn’t going to happen. 

“Next time, man.” Nate sympathetically clapped a hand onto his shoulder, the smirk never leaving his face as Steven sighed. 

* * *

Portfolio of music under her arm, Ivynell walked briskly back in the direction of her flat, arms tightly pulled to her sides at the cool wind that seemed to blow right through her jacket. She was used to cooler temperatures, just usually not at this time in the year. England seemed to be that much cooler year round than her home, and she silently refused the urge to sigh, biting her lip (a bad nervous habit) as she powered forward. Maybe she really should have taken the bus... or asked Steven to drive her—he was the one with the car (parking in London could be both hard and expensive). However, as another chill ran up and down her spine and she froze, turning around. This one was different than the others--this chill was the kind that could only come from the feeling of being watched. 

Ivy hadn't always been this paranoid, but maybe she had seen one too many Liam Neeson movies to be anything less than cautious. Pulling her portfolio to her chest, her eyes wandered over to any potentially hidden places where someone could hide from sight easily. Despite the distinct feeling of being watched, whoever was doing the spying was either really good at hiding, or she was just being ridiculous. And yes, paranoid did return to her mind now and again. It must have been the nerves; here she was, on the eve of her performance, getting spooked by shadows!

A stray cat wandered out of an alleyway and she jumped, and Ivy’s eyes narrowed as she chided herself mentally. All the pressure that the next day would bring was certainly stressing her out—she just needed to go home, drink some jasmine tea, and go over her set list again. Then everything would be fine. The brunette told herself that over and over again, almost like a chant as she hugged her form tightly and continued at a hastened pace. However, the more she walked, the more the streets seemed to empty. It was early afternoon and the streets of London felt like they were deserted. Tamed eyebrows furrowed, her lips pursed tightly. A creeping feeling slid up her spine, and for a moment, she thought the shadows began to bend and twist at the corners of her eyes. 

“I’m going insane…!” she chuckled lightly as the image faded, shaking her head as if to shake the feeling. However, it didn’t go away, and just as she turned her head to check behind her again, she walked straight into a wall—or more like a person built like a wall. A muffled yelp left Ivy’s lips as she skittered back, saving herself from hitting the cracked pavement. “I’m sorry, I totally didn’t—-“ she trailed off as soon as she got a good look at the man in front of her. 

He was dressed in robes like he belonged to some sort of renaissance fair, a cowl pulled over his head and floor-length a staff in his hand. She couldn’t see much beyond the lines of his mouth under the hood, his lips pressed into a thin line, and the whites of his eyes just barely looking past her, as if observing his surroundings. She opened her mouth in question, though no sound came out. Her eyes widened—wasn’t she speaking? Nothing was coming out and she choked on her own saliva (even that didn’t make noise). How in the hell…?

The man began to take a step forward, his previous impassive expression now curling up into a smile, though it never truly reached the depths of where his dark eyes hid. “The Maker has blessed me this day…” his voice slithered along her back, a dangerous baritone timbre that rumbled through her bones and dripped pure evil. Her instincts were screaming at her not to be anywhere near this man, and the little hairs on her her arms stood at attention in the midst of her fear. Her mouth felt dry as she stumbled backward. “My little silence spell seems to have silenced a lost little lark… good thing for me. This means you can come along quietly.”

If she wasn’t terrified before, she certainly was now--turning around, she screamed, but sound still refused to leave her lips. Silence had never been so terrifying. The sharp ‘tap-tap’ of his staff on the ground seemed to echo off the historic brick buildings, and her body froze in place. No! How was this happening? Her breath caught in her throat and she continued to scream, choking back a sob as she clung to the music in her arms as if it was her lifeblood. 

“Ah ah ah,” chiding her like a child, he clicked his tongue in annoyance. “I will not have my test subject running away from me.” Her frame shook from the strain of breaking out of whatever hold he had over her. She could barely even hear him over the sound of her heart beating in her ears, she was so scared. And where the hell was everyone?! It wasn’t late out, there should be cards in the road! And yet there was no one to be found--people, animals… everything was quiet. She’d take the silence over the sound of this… freak’s voice. “What happens if I take a being capable of magic from a world without, and throw them into a world teeming with it?” As he spoke he circled around her form, his eyes narrowed as she quivered in fear, blue eyes wide and shaking. He leaned in and he smelled metallic--copper filled her mouth and she wondered, for a moment, if she had bit her tongue. It took her a moment longer, however, to discover the smell was emanating from the man in front of her. Ivy had never smelled blood extensively, but her brain instinctively told her that’s the only thing the smell could have been.

Needless to say, she had no idea what he was talking about, but she wasn’t about to concern herself with the ravings of a madman when she couldn’t even  _ move _ . Her skin tingled in what felt like a cold fire, crackling and licking against her skin. Adrenaline pumped through her veins but had no outlet as she remained held in place, mid-step in her attempt to flee. “Unfortunately, though you are the perfect vessel, you will need time… to ripen. To be ready for the Master. But don’t worry, you’ll be coming with me…”

The thought of going anywhere with this weird man and his indescribably scary abilities seemed to have sparked something inside her, a white heat replacing the cold feeling from before. Apparently Ivy wasn’t the only individual who felt it because as soon as it thrummed through her, her attacker must have felt it too, because his eyes widened in shock. “L-Let…” she barely gasped out. “Me… go!” Her body fell, and she yelped as her knees scraped the pavement through her skinny jeans. The pavement cracked lightly in a shockwave, and her eyes widened, feeling a thrumming in her fingers. 

“You’re more powerful than we predicted--even in this dead world…” the male above her spoke, and just as she was about to scramble away, in fear for her life, a wave of exhaustion swept over her with one wave of his staff. She fought the urge to lose consciousness, but another wave had her eyes rolling to the back of her head. 

What happened after? Ivy didn’t know. She was suspended in limbo, her surroundings dark and unfamiliar. It looked like an echo of her home--not London but out across the waters and back to the United States, except the buildings were grey and a green light shone from the sky. It looked like a normal residential street in some common suburb, houses neatly lined down the street, and darkened shadows were illuminated by street lamps that were lit with green fire stronger than any LED. Her eyebrows furrowed as she brought her hand to the cast iron, tracing the rough metal before continuing towards the next one. There wasn’t anyone to be seen, not on the sidewalk or in the darkened windows of the houses, but the shadows just beyond her eyesight seemed to grow and ungulate, expanding and condensing before flitting about and behind buildings. The silence was cut by a gentle hum when she took a step, a new shade of color brought into this weird and eerie hellscape. Trying to pinpoint the hum’s location was difficult, but the more she stepped, the louder it thrummed, only for Ivynell to look behind her to see where she had come from. Every step she took had been marked by glowing tendrils growing out of the ground, cracking the pavement and making a slow climb up and toward the pale green sky. Each tendril seemed to throb as it hummed, like a heartbeat, simultaneously beautiful and terrifying. Questions flew to her mind that no one could answer. Did someone spike something she ate or drank? Where the hell was she and what was going on? 

“Hello…?” her voice seemed to echo into the space, the ghostly streets reminiscent of how London had looked when she had been chased by that man.  _ That’s right, that guy! _ Her eyes widened as she remembered. How could she have forgotten? Her fascination with this strange reality had nearly made her forget how she had passed out in the first place. 

“ **Intelligent… smart… stubborn… yes, my followers have picked a good host…** ” a voice rumbled throughout the land, and the glowing veins of blue trembled. It started with the first set, where she had seemingly woke up in this world. The shadows swarmed her footsteps and when they left, the tendrils of glowing… light… seemed to darken, and dull, until they were a lifeless and tainted crystal, no longer growing, the singing silenced. It was if someone… or more accurately  _ something _ had drained whatever life it had. “ **So unique… a supply of power that can be created at will like none has ever seen. To sing life into motion is a... generous gift.** ” The shadows followed her as she turned around. Ivynell found she hated this voice. It was dark. It was deep, and ancient, and there was something in the back of her mind that reminded her of all those horror movies her friends over the years had made her watch. There was something distinct and uniquely  _ demonic _ about this whole encounter, and she wanted nothing to do with it. 

“Leave me alone!” she gasped, beginning to turn her speed walk into a jog, and then into a run, but the chuckle just behind her told her that whoever “it” was, it was keeping pace with her well. She’d seen enough media to know what happened to individuals who stuck around to find whatever entity was haunting them. She was never particularly superstitious, but she trusted her instincts well enough when they were screaming at her to “GTFO.” 

“ **Darling…** ” the voice appeared in front of her, shadows forming into a vaguely humanoid figure as she bit back a scream of terror, limbs shaking in fear at the power this creature showcased. “ **It’s too late for turning back. This Fade is fading from you as you grow further and further away.** ” She began to make out features of its--his?--face, a sharp nose, and inky black voids where eyes should be. A wicked and yet beautiful smile curled up at the distinction of her fear and confusion. “ **You will understand in time. Honestly, you should be** **_thanking_ ** **me for pulling you from that horribly dull dimension.** ” But that was her home! What the hell was he talking about? She was so close to graduating--to meeting her dream! Realizing her goals and all her hard work! It couldn’t be ripped away from her now.

“This is a dream,” she stated, her voice out of breath from fleeing this creature. “A horrible, terrible nightmare, that I will wake up from, in my apartment, and then I will go forward with my life.” The creature’s form shivered infront of her, before melting down into an inky black puddle, his chuckle sounding and echoing all around her as the world grew dark. She felt like she was floating. 

“ **Your naivete is… amusing, if not a little annoying. We shall meet again soon, if my followers are diligent in keeping their hands on you.** ” Something told her to be very,  _ very _ afraid. Ivynell wasn’t sure if it was her natural instincts, or how wrong this thing’s tone sounded. It was sickly sweet, like it held all the intents and purposes of making sure that she knew she was no longer safe.

“Wake up… wake up now, Ivy…” she began chanting, closing her eyes to the shadowy world. Color battered against her eyes and she felt the sensation of falling. It started off slow, as a gentle float. More light hit her eyelids but they remained firmly closed, as if refusing this nightmare the satisfaction of her thoughts and vision would somehow enable her to wake up. Slowly, her gentle descent lessened as her speed increased, and wind whipped around her, pulling her long brunette locks out of the low ponytail she’d had it in. Her stomach dropped, the feeling of nausea overtaking her as she clung to herself, not even noticing the fact that she was still clinging to her music portfolio as though it was the only thing she had left in the world. And little did she know how accurate that was. She didn’t know how far away the ground was. She didn’t know if this was the way that she was going to die. All she knew was that she didn’t want to give that creature the satisfaction of looking… of seeing the terror stricken on her face. There was a horrible pull on her stomach again, like someone had made her swallow a bag of bricks. 

She was going to die. For sure.

“ **WAKE UP!** ”

* * *

“I don’t know… she doesn’t seem like a mage to me…”

“Look at the odd way she’s dressed--I’ve sailed all over the world and I’ve never seen anything like… like  _ that _ .”

“You shems all look the same to me, sorry.”

“Oh, Hawke! She’s coming to!”

“Alright, let’s have a look at ya…”

Ivynell felt cold, and she felt hot all at the same time, eyelashes fluttering as she heard a small group of people hovering around her. Her faculties felt intact, as much as they could have felt after such a horrible dream. However, the distinct feeling of being watched had her pushing to open her eyes, though that was easier said than done.

“Take it easy, having a tangle with a bloodmage is never a fun experience,” a soothing voice spoke to her left, and Ivy felt a hand on the back of her head, a soothing experience in all of her confusion. “I’ve healed all of her physical ailments, though thankfully there weren’t many.” He seemed to be addressing whoever else was there.

“We’re wasting our time here,” okay, who was bitter? “There are other pockets of bloodmages than this one, and more will follow it.”

“Calm down, Fenris,” a voice that she had heard as she was just coming to, and it was then that she opened her eyes slowly, a male with a mop of dark hair above her. His face was rougish, a five-o-clock shadow donning his chin and dried blood smeared over his nose. “Look at those baby blues. You’re alright, aren’t you, ser?” 

Ivy was so confused. 

The more she observed the people around her, the more she felt like she had wandered into some sort of medieval convention. The male in front of her had armor like that of what she’d seen in video games, or Lord of the Rings. Dark black, with spikes on the right pauldron, and far more detailed than that of any cosplay photos she’d ever seen. The others were dressed in similar looks, in varying degrees of “DnD” classes, and she felt sick to her stomach. “Where… what… who the fuck are you?” For all of her graces, Ivynell was never the most eloquent when this out of sorts, and a snort from her side pulled her attention to--for all intents and purposes--a ginger haired dwarf. 

“This lass will fit in quite nicely, don’t you think, Hawke?”

“Hawke,” the male with blood on his face, could only offer a wide grin, standing up to his full height. He had previously been hunched over her form, curious dark brown eyes trailing her form curiously. “Well, Anders did take a look at her, and based at her speech she seems fine.”

“I just want to know what those blasted mages wanted with her--” a female voice spoke from behind them, and Ivy could only watch in hopeless confusion as a strong-looking woman with bright orange hair and shiny armor growled, stepping forward. “All locked up like this with about 50 mages in the compound. This was far more organized than all the other incursions we’ve found around the city, and at the end of it is this girl? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Ivy opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out this time, her eyes moving back and forth between these strange individuals. Before she could respond, a soft voice called from the side, taking the attention off of her as she fought off a panic attack. The room was small and dark, lit only by torches and the ground was filthy (Ivy didn’t even want to think about what kind of disease she might contract staying down here any longer). “There seems to be a storage… thing… containing a lot of paper. It’s been scribbled on--if it’s some sort of ritual, I don’t know it. It certainly doesn’t seem like Elvehn.”

“That’s… sheet music,” another female voice called out, a woman dressed like a pirate taking a piece out of her portfolio. “I’ve seen this back in antiva, though it’s uncommon. Most minstrels and bards play by memory. Only the learned-ones bother to scribe their songs.” She put it back in her portfolio.

_ Her portfolio. _

“That’s mine!” she gasped, pushing herself to stand. A cough sounded in her lungs as she accidentally swallowed saliva down her windpipe, a hand on her back steadying her. “That’s mine, m-my music. Where…? Where am I?” she gasped, stumbling over to the two women, decidedly ignoring the one with elf ears. ELF EARS. Another wave of nausea rolled over her. 

“She can barely stand,” voices whispered behind her. “What the  _ hell _ did those mages do to the poor thing?”

“She’s… it’s odd.” The kind voice who had spoken about her physical condition before spoke again, and she turned to see a male in robes, a staff strapped to his back as she got flashbacks from the man who had started this whole mess, though this individual was distinctly different. “It’s… she seems to have the capability to be a mage, but she’s… it’s like she’s tranquil. She’s been cut off from the Fade.” 

“What? How’s that even possible?” the shortest male held his chin in thought. “You’re not making any sense, she act like one of those quiet, emotionless venders out in front of the Gallows, Blondie.” 

“Excuse me,” Ivynell tried to break into the conversation, but everyone seemed to be huddled together, having some sort of a harshly whispered powwow while she stood on the outside, her portfolio gathered into her arms. 

“What do we do with her?”

“Why don’t you ask the girl, she is standing right there?” Ivy already liked the orange haired woman--she seemed to be the most sensible of all of them.

“We still don’t know what those bloodmages wanted with her--she could be dangerous,” a black haired male whined, and the resemblance to the first person she had seen was striking enough that she knew they were siblings. “We should just give her to the Templars and have them sort everything out.”

“And give her over to Meredith? To subjugation in the Gallows? No. I won’t stand for it,” her healer spoke with a narrowed gaze, snarl on his lips. A silver haired man with pointy ears scoffed at this, and the more Ivynell listened, the more she had the sinking suspicion that she was far further away from home than she had initially thought. These weren’t cosplayers, as she had maybe hoped. Everything that she had experienced in the empty streets of London had been real. They had felt too real to be anything but. Her dreams? She wasn’t sure of their validity, but somehow they played into this whole mess too, and a scared whimper left her throat that caught the attention of the slender figures with pointed ears, but neither said anything. “Carver, everything we do is dangerous. This is no difference,” the man called Hawke spoke with a smirk, his teasing demeanor only further souring the expression of his presumed-brother. His expression, however, grew far more serious at the following sentence. “Besides, there’s no way I’m letting Meredith get her claws on her.”

“Excuse me,” Ivy tried to break into the conversation once more, but again she was ignored as they continued to argue amongst themselves. “HEY!” The shouting got their attention, and although Ivynell had never shied away from the spotlight, having eight pairs of eyes on her form had her immediately shuddering, nerves adding to the nausea in her stomach. “S-Sorry, but you all seem to be deciding  _ my  _ fate, and I don’t even know who the hell you are, or where the hell I am!”

“Sorry, we’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Hawke grinned, easily seeming to smoothe the tensions out in the group as he stepped forward. “I am Ser Hawke, and these are my companions. I suppose I can introduce you to all of them,” there was some grumbling, “later, but for now allow me to be the first to welcome you to Kirkwall’s finest, a slaver hideout and bloodmage stronghold in Darktown.” Her expression must have been confused enough because he was quick to follow up with. “You’re in the Free Marches, love.” 

“The what now…?” Ivynell looked between Hawke and the group helplessly, but no one seemed to offer any explanation. Hawke caught her attention once more, and the male grinned widely.

“Unfortunately, it seems as though we may or may not have killed anyone who could explain where they stole you from, but I assure you their intentions were anything but pure.” So they just… slaughtered her kidnappers?

“You said mages--they were using… what… magic?! That’s impossible, magic doesn’t exist,” she quickly breathed, a few of the individuals with staves looking uncomfortable as the silver-haired male snorted condescendingly. 

“If only that were true,” he muttered, though aside from a glare from the blonde male who had healed her, no one bothered to comment on his snide words. 

“I feel like we have a lot to talk about, baby blues,” the shorter male reached out his hand to her, which she shook awkwardly. “I’m Varric Tethras, and because of our blundering killer over here,” Hawke only grinned widely. “I suppose the lot of us are now responsible for you.”

“Why do I feel more terrified than reassured?” she couldn’t stop the words from exiting her lips before they were out in the open, but thankfully that seemed to send a ripple of soft chuckles through the group. 

“I think we’re gonna get along fine,” Varric grinned, before he began waving the large group out of the small room. “Now, everybody, out! I love Darktown as much as the next degenerate but I think some sunlight and air that doesn’t smell like fish and shit would do our new friend some good.” Ivynell couldn’t agree more.

She didn’t know where she was, she didn’t know what was going on, but all she knew was that she had been ripped from her life at a key moment, and thrust into some sort of fantasy freak show. Her mind thought back to her dream, wondering how real it was--she was still wondering when she would wake up passed out on the sidewalk with some older irish gentleman asking her which bar she came from, because he wanted what she’d had to get her passed out in the street. 

The brunette was far from understanding what was going on, but she did know one thing: she had to get back.


	2. Chapter 2

The Hanged Man reminded Ivy of a pub she’d been to once out in the middle of nowhere Ireland. They had taken a weekend to go explore and sing in some of the beautiful cathedrals that Ireland had to offer. Unfortunately, due to an unforeseen conflict, Dr. Mattsen couldn’t go with them, and this prompted a comedy of errors which included (but was not limited to): getting on the wrong bus, being dumped in the middle of nowhere, sleeping in a barn for the night and a goat eating Nate’s good pants. The floor was dirt, or at least she assumed it was (if it was truly different from outside it hadn’t been cleaned in eons). In fact, the brunette might have even thought it was some dingy pub out in the highlands if not for the fact that she was being led to a private room in the back by a dwarf, and a serving girl who was an elf had just handed her a pint of dubious liquid.

“I don’t think you understand, I seriously need to go back home,” she had been trying to explain to Varric the importance of getting back to wherever her earth was as soon as possible but she didn’t think it was sticking. Not that the dwarf was ignoring her per-say, but as everyone dispersed once they’d emerged from Darktown into what she had been informed was Lowtown (real creative names--you’d think a fantasy world would come up with something more… “fancy”), Varric seemed a little preoccupied bidding his friends farewell rather than pay her full attention.

Before she knew it she was led to the bar, the only other individuals hanging around being Hawke and a rather begrudging-looking Carver, and then and only once outfitted with that evening’s “special” and some mead was Varric ready to listen. Anders, the mage healer, had shaken her hand with a wink before mentioning something about getting back to a clinic before he _willingly_ went back into Darktown. Ivy wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to wash off Darktown’s stink. 

“So Baby blues, maybe you should start from the beginning,” Varric sighed, taking a seat as he sighed, eagerly lifting the mug of dark amber ale to his lips. 

“The… _beginning_ beginning?” she questioned, raising an eyebrow and looking to Hawke for help as Carver rolled his eyes.

“Varric does enjoy a good story, try not to make it boring,” Hawke offered unhelpfully, a smirk on his face.

“So… I’m going to go out on a limb here and say I don’t belong here,” she started cautiously, a snort coming from the younger Hawke as he shook his head. 

“If we couldn’t tell by your odd dress then it would be by your mannerism and accent,” Carver noted, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall, refusing to sit down. She wondered if he had issues. 

“Excuse me for not fitting into your weird fantasy world,” Ivy couldn’t help but narrow her eyes at him, and they both glared challengingly before she sighed. This wasn’t the hill she wanted to die on, and these people were her best bet at getting home. The very thought made her sick to her stomach. “I-I think whatever that man… I mean… _mage_ , did… pulled me from my world--from where _I_ belong, and brought me here.” Hawke and Varric looked to each other, one sheepish the other pondering. “But before I woke up, I was in some weird world, where the sky was green and everything was shifty--it made me wonder if someone hadn’t drugged me, it was so vivid.”

“That,” Hawke leaned forward, dark brown orbs trailing over her face with distinct curiosity. “Sounds an awful lot like the Fade. But pulling a person from one plane’s Fade to the next? Impossible.”

“That actually sounds familiar,” Ivy thought back to the man’s words as he held her in place. “He called my world a “Dead Fade,” and said he wanted to bring me to this one.” Her brain was hurting and she groaned. “Why me though? I was so close to graduating! Just one more recital and I could have sang in the finest halls in the world…!” She was being a little dramatic--there was a lot more to getting booked than her last Grad-School Performance, but the principle was still the same. “I _have_ to get back. Are you going to help me?”

Varric hummed, a contemplative look on his face as he studied her. To him, Ivy must have seemed like a madwoman, but if he thought so he didn’t show it. “Well, haven’t you gotten yourself into some right shit?”

That actually pulled a laugh from her throat, and she hung her head in a form of defeat. “Well… you’re not wrong.?”

“Course I’m not. Still, Hawke, it looks like we’ve got a caged songbird on our hands,” she wasn’t sure she liked the nickname, but anything was better than ‘Baby Blues’. That felt condescending in some way.

“It’s Ivynell, by the way.”

“What?”

She took a deep breath--they might as well try to make the most of this scenario. “My name is Ivynell Stone, but I prefer Ivy. In all this mess at least I seem to have met the one group of people who could help me.”

“You’re a rather lucky bird, huh?” Varric chuckled, and she let her eyes narrow at the blatant disregard for her real name. “Still, you’ve gotten stuck here, and I can’t help but think that we’re--Hawke--is partially responsible.”

“What? Now that’s a little cruel,” Hawke seemed to pout, though the gesture seemed half-hearted.

“If you hadn’t killed every bloodmage in sight, then maybe we might have been able to interrogate one of them into how, and why, they brought Ivynell here,” Carver pushed his brother’s shoulder slightly, glare set into his gaze. Honestly, Ivy had mostly forgotten that he was still with them. He didn’t seem like someone who wanted to stick out… or at least that’s what he appeared to be to her--in the shadow of Hawke’s presence, anyway. Maybe that was why he was so cross all the time. It wasn’t like she had known any of them that long, but it wasn’t hard to see that he was stuck under the shadow of his older brother (Hawke was definitely older).

She wanted to know if it was necessary to kill all those people, but she thought better against asking considering they had dragged her from her world in the creepiest way. Instead she moved onto the next most-pressing question that she had. “You’re all acting rather calmly about me being from another world.”

Hawke only shrugged, a small smirk on his lips. “It wouldn’t be completely out of the question--especially with dark magics involved.” Now it was her time to raise an eyebrow at him and Carver sighed, shaking his head as the elder donned a more serious expression that was rather short lived. “Listen, you speak differently enough, and dress like no woman I’ve ever seen before in Thedas. I wondered if maybe you weren’t Tevinter at first, but a friend told me you weren’t.” He and Varric shared a look that went over her head. “I suppose we have to figure out what we’re going to do with you.”

“Help me get home, right?” she insisted, an added tone of worry in her voice. Another look was shared, but she easily read this one as pure concern. “I clearly don’t belong here, therefore getting me back home is the best idea, right?” 

“I… can start seeing if Anders has any connections in the Gallows. I’m just concerned that any digging we might do will arouse suspicion with the Iron Lady.” Now it was Ivy’s turn to be concerned (as if she was t concern trapped in this strange world).

“The Iron Lady?”

Varric sighed, running a hand over his head as he leaned back in his chair. “Have you ever heard of a Templar in your world, baby blues?”

“Ivy,” she corrected, wondering how long it would take him--any of them--to use her name. “And as in… Religious Crusaders? Y-yes…? Though I can only imagine how different they are in your world.”

“That’s pretty close,” Carver nodded, finally moving to take a seat, as his stubbornness relented once seeing that this meeting wouldn’t be as short as he probably wanted it to be. “Templars work for the Chantry,” she must have looked lost already because Hawke piped up.

“The religious group.” Carver glared at him.

“But they have anti-magic abilities, meant to keep mages in check, so that things like this,” she almost felt offended as the younger Hawke motioned to her. “Don’t happen.”

“Except,” Hawke butted in again, causing Carver’s agitation to grow. “They’re meant to protect the mages from themselves, but their system is flawed. Especially here in Kirkwall, the mages are basically Templar prisoners, and the Iron Lady, Knight Commander Meredith, is their Jailer.”

“Slavery, nice to know it exists in every universe…” she muttered under her breath, but if they heard it they didn’t comment on her sarcasm. “So basically, you stir up some weird dimension hopping questions, and this Templar Commander cracks down on all of the mages trapped in this place.”

“Precisely!” Hawke grinned at her understanding, wide smile turning to Varric. “I do like this one, can’t we keep her?”

“We hardly have enough room in the shack that Uncle Gamlen calls a ‘home’,” Carver sneered. “And as much as mother might enjoy having another feminine presence about, it’s not like it’s proper to ask a girl to sleep on the floor with the rats.” She shivered at the thought, at least someone was looking out for her (sort of).

“I’ve been meaning to amend that whole situation, Carver,” Hawke nodded understandingly, a peculiar look in his eyes as Ivynell had to sit on her hands and wait for them to decide her fate. It’s not like she had anywhere to go. “Something didn’t sit right with me when Uncle said that the family fortune was given to him. Grandma and Grandpa _must_ have loved mother. She didn’t just get ‘nothing’ from their inheritance. The only problem is the will is still in the estate.” Estate? Were the Hawke’s rich?

“Huh…” Carver seemed relatively convinced of that, and a hardened look crossed over his features. “I guess we’ll have to pay them a visit…”

“Indeed we shall, brother,” Hawke grinned widely, before turning back toward Varric and Ivy. “So, until then do you think you can let Ivy stay here?” the brunette’s nose immediately scrunched in distaste. She couldn’t say anything because she didn’t have anywhere else to go, but still the thought of such an unhygienic living space was revolting. Ivy wasn’t even more of a neat freak than the average person, but one look at the floor of the bar and you knew it reeked of diseases. 

“I suppose…” Varric stroked his chin as he turned to observe Ivy. “But I couldn’t convince the current owner without putting you to work. Have you ever been a waitress before?”

She snorted. “In college.” All three males looked to each other in surprise. Was this one of those fantasy worlds where learning was forbidden by women? Her eyebrows furrowed.

“It feels wrong to make a learned woman bus tables in a dingy bar,” Varric leaned towards Hawke and Carver, whispering even though Ivy could clearly still hear them. She was unimpressed with being talked about as if she wasn’t there.

“Yes… there should be a better solution but I can’t think of anything…” Carver whispered back harshly, his eyebrows furrowing. 

“Wait!” Hawke’s exclamation caused everyone in the room to jump. His eyes were practically glowing as he turned to face Ivy, and she instinctively shrunk back from him--this seemed to be a sort of look that she was afraid of becoming accustomed to. She’d known all of them but for a few hours and already she knew to _fear_ this look. “You’re a singer--you said so yourself. Why don’t you be the Hanged Man’s minstrel?” Immediately her thought was her, dressed as some fool, getting harassed in the corner of a bar. Definitely not the ideal venus she had dreamed of since she was a little girl.

“Not a bad idea, Hawke,” Varric grinned. “So, what do you say, Songbird? Care to sing for your rent?”

“I can’t even begin to imagine what singing music from a different dimension will do to this reality,” they looked confused, and rightfully so, “But… I’d feel bad if you all stuck your necks out for me and I didn’t do anything to help myself. So I suppose… sure.” 

Varric clapped his hands together, standing up as he moved to the door, “Great--I’m gonna go talk to the owner.”

“Y’know, Varric, you basically run the place, you might as well own it, too,” Hawke called after him, the dwarf waving off the mage with a hand as he disappeared into the hallway.

“Working on it After this expedition I _should_ be the owner.”

“Expedition?” Ivy blinked, tilting her head to one side. “What kind of an expedition?”

“We’re going into the Deep Roads to some forgotten Thaig,” Carver shrugged. His explanation did little to help her understand what any of that meant, but “Deep Roads” sounded unpleasant enough so she merely nodded as if she did understand. 

“To find our fortune and make enough to improve our social standing,” Hawke nodded, a confident look on his features. “There might be darkspawn down there but nothing like Carver and I haven’t seen before. And less since the last Blight.”

“Since the last _what_?” Ivy felt faint. Blight? Pestilence? Is that what they were talking about? Carver and Hawke both shared an uneasy look, and Hawke leaned forward, placing a hand on her shoulder that she supposed was meant to be comforting.

“There’s a lot about this world that I suppose you don’t understand. Hopefully you can stay here and around Kirkwall and not have to worry about such matters,” Carver sent his brother a look of disapproval at his choice not to elaborate further, but Hawke merely shrugged off his look with a grin. “We’ll try and get you home… amidst our own problems of course.”

Ivy nodded glumly, her mood dampened by the fact that there were scarier things (in her opinion) than even the mage who had crudely dragged her here. Darkspawn? That sounded… well, for lack of a better word, dark. And a Blight that brought them up from underground and they wanted to go _down to meet them?!_

“Stay here, Ivy, we’ll go see what arrangements Varric has made,” Carver said, standing up with his brother as they left Ivy to her thoughts. She could only nod, a little exhausted after everything that had happened. Despite all of the new information that she was being forced to take in, the existence of magic, and other such creatures usually associated with magic on her mind as her fate was decided for her.

* * *

Kirkwall was, as far as the others explained, a normal city in Thedas, The longer Ivy stayed, the more she learned, soaking up the history from Varric as much as she could hold the dwarf’s attention (which was often, considering their similar residency in the Hanged Man). Varric spent most of his time working on plans for the expedition into the Deep Roads that they had mentioned on Ivy’s first day, but he didn’t want to “bore her with the details,” and so they talked a lot about the world at large.

Ivy hadn’t been in this world for very long--she could still count the number of days she had been there on both hands, but she was like a sponge for information. When Hawke had free time he had toured her around Kirkwall (after giving her an appropriate wardrobe, she didn’t dare ask where the dresses came from), showing her some of the best (and admittedly the worst) locations with Carver trailing along. After being particularly sour for the majority of the day, the brunette had asked the younger Hawke why he bothered to come with at all if he was just going to complain the entire time. His excuse was that he was only tagging along so he could stop Hawke from unintentionally pulling Ivy into his “business.” Considering Ivy felt the less she knew about their business, the safer she would be, she chose not to argue with him or press him further.

The following day had been her first time singing in the Hanged Man, and it went… relatively well. Her nerves were a little more fried than usual due to the strange circumstances, but after closing her eyes and imagining a theater for herself like what she was used to, Ivy was able to push out the sound of the drunks and the smells of the Hanged Man, and she performed as if she was at any other location. For the most part she went unnoticed (which she preferred in this more intimate scenario) only singing a few soft art songs in English; the Kirkwall residents simply called it ‘common,’ but their written characters looked _nothing_ like any English Ivy had ever seen before. For a bar venue, she stuck mostly to what little she knew of folk music and sea shanties (both from pop culture and her historical music classes) because she feared what influence say a Brahms Requiem might have on the patrons. They were all far too drunk or preoccupied to even pay mind to the delicate intricacies of such a piece, and didn’t deserve to hear something more technically advanced.

Outside of Varric and Hawke, the people she saw the most were Isabela and Meryll, the former being a frequent renter of the rooms in the Hanged Man and the latter still struggling to understand all of Lowtown’s intricacies (and the one place she knew how to get to consistently from the alienage was the Hanged Man). Knowing this, Ivy _should_ have had more common sense than to accept Meryll’s invitation to go out to “observe and study the people of Lowtown” like the plucky young elf wanted her to (she was still getting used to “elves” in general). Meryll knew the streets of Kirkwall just as well as Ivy, which meant _not at all_. It wasn’t long before they had gotten lost, and Meryll had told the brunette to stay put as she figured out where they were. Now, when Ivy had been captured and brought to Thedas, she had her phone and watch on her, but had ultimately decided that the technology of her world could easily be mistaken for witchcraft, so she had no concept of time aside from the sun hidden behind thinly veiled clouds, but she was certain she had been standing in the same place for at least an hour, due to the pinkish hues in the west. The sun was setting and she had no desire to be out in Lowtown after dark, but she also had no way of navigating back to the Hanged Man. 

“Dammit Meryll…” Ivy whined under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her wide eyes and bright smile were so sweet--how could she have told her ‘no’ even if she was regretting it now? 

A rustle in a nearby alleyway caught Ivy’s attention, and she slunk more into the shadow of the building she was standing near, wanting to stay out of the way, and out of sight. Either she didn’t move fast enough, or she had been watched for some time, because a rough hand on her elbow pulled her away from the safety of the wall and into the middle of the street.

“Hey! What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?!” she yelped, pushing her anger out in waves, rather than expose the fear that nearly had her knees knocking together. 

A rather disheveled male wearing some sort of uniform looked her up and down, and her eyes narrowed considerably--she knew when she was being “appreciated,” and she didn’t take too kindly to it. “Sorry messere~” he was clearly drunk, if it wasn’t for the stench then the way each syllable slid lazily into the other. “Say… you talk funny, don’tcha?” As drunk as he was, he could hardly speak at all, much less criticize her accent. Ivy didn’t have the time to deal with this--it was getting darker by the minute. At this point she figured she should just wander _up_ and get some guard to take her home, not unlike a teenager asking a police officer for a lift (it was embarrassing, was her point). Besides, it smelled a bit better in Hightown… not much, but better. The point was, she could handle one drunk man.

“If you can still understand me, and you’re not so inebriated so as to avoid all common sense,” she beckoned him closer with a finger, and shuddered at the way he grinned. He stepped forward, eagerly, and she flicked his forehead. “Get lost!” As he rubbed his brow in confusion, Ivynell turned to walk up the stairs behind them, only to run into a wall of men. Not more than a few thugs, but enough that Ivy knew she wasn’t going to get away as easily, all showing various forms of sobriety. 

“See,” one of the bigger ones stepped forward, his eyes narrowed. “The boys and I just want some… entertainment.” She shuddered inadvertently, more than positive that they didn’t share the same ideas of what “entertainment” meant. “But we don’t have the coin to pay you. So, I guess you could say you can put it on our tab.” She wanted to slap the sleazy grin off of his face, but knew that it probably wouldn't go over well. 

Blue eyes glinted in the dimming light, looking up and down the streets for any sort of city guard--didn’t Hawke say his friend Aveline was one? “Looking for someone to save you?” Another male grinned, and she nearly paled as she recognized his uniform--he _was_ one of the city guard.”This is my patrol, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I’ll protect you…”

She nearly laughed out loud, considering that she didn’t believe him, and maybe should would have laughed if she weren’t actually terrified. Why had she left the Hanged Man without any sort of protection?? Well, Ivy had been with Meryll, that had been enough protection because she was a mage, or so Ivynell thought before they got separated. 

“Now, how about we put on a show,” another chuckled, five men in total now surrounding her in a circle. 

“L-leave me alone!” she spat harshly, turning about to try and keep her eyes on as many of them as she could from any one position. “Or…!” she was grasping at straws--anything to scare them away. Or convince them otherwise. They waited, almost as if they were as interested as she was as to how she was going to try and argue her way out of this scenario. “Or I’ll scream!”

Their chuckles clearly showed how that wouldn’t matter. No one cared about what happened in Lowtown--this was where the poor people lived. Now, Hightown…? Maybe. It depended if anyone worth their salt was listening, and then _maybe_ the guards would have found her body in the morning. Now she wondered if she’d be lucky enough for her body to be found at all.”No one’s gonna come running for some lowly, funny-talking peasant girl,” the guard grinned, stepping forward to boldly place a hand on her chin. Ivy growled, trying to tilt her head away from his grasp.

“Let me go!” She wasn’t exactly being quiet about her protests, and the more handsy they got, the more she struggled against them. She heard her sleeve rip and she bit her cheek. This particular dress was Isabela’s (or she had procured it for her). A shame too, it looked quite good on her. Honestly Ivy was trying to think of literally anything else to pull her mind out of the trauma that was happening as the men pulled at her chocolate brown locks and grabbed at her skirt while she yelled at them to let her go. Was this really happening? This wasn’t some long extended nightmare? At least before she had felt like maybe there was a way for her to get home.

But right now she really wanted to wake up.

“Hey.” A gruff voice spoke out behind them, freezing a few of the men in their tracks, one even pausing as he tried to tug Ivy’s sleeve over her shoulder. “Hands off the woman. I don’t think she is enjoying herself. Just a guess.”

Ivy had to crane her neck to try and peer at the stranger from over her and the men’s shoulders, only seeing a tuft of white hair from a distance. She hadn’t realized she was crying until a tear that had slid to her chin fell on her exposed shoulder. 

“Just keep walking, Knife-ear. This doesn’t concern you,” the drunk she’d first come in contact with slurred, turning around and breaking the circle to try and deter the stranger from interfering.

‘ _Knife-ear… what does that even mean…?_ ’ Ivy’s brain distracted her from her distress with another question, but even that train of thought was interrupted by the _‘shink’_ of metal being unsheathed, and a heavy thud hitting the ground.

“Woah, what the hell?!” the sleazy guard turned to face the man, the other three following suit. No longer being held (thankfully avoiding any inappropriate touching so far) Ivy felt exhausted, sinking to her knees. “Stay there, wench. C’mon boys, it’s one elf.”

Oh. Knife-ears. Elf. _White hair_.

It was Fenris, the grouch. Or at least ‘Broody,’ which is what Varric had introduced him as, and he had grumbled something incoherent before slinking off. She’d only seen him on that first day she had arrived in Kirkwall and he had been grouchy, so somewhere along her subconscious train of thought, that is what she called him. Still, here he was, challenging five--no wait, scratch that (the amount of blood surrounding the drunk strongly suggested his death)--four men head on, when there was only one of him.

And based upon what Ivy knew of The Lord of the Rings, elves were immortal but could die from battle wounds. 

“Your reckoning has come, scum,” Fenris’ upper lip curled in a sneer, eyes shining with disdain as he readied his bloodied blade. It looked to be twice his size, and Ivy distracted herself again by questioning the logic of how a weapon of that size would be viable in a battle scenario due to physics. Her attention was captured, however, as he began to glow. From the bottom of his feet to just below his mouth, his intricate tattoos that snaked his body began to glow a light blue, an unearthly shade of vibrancy that made her breath catch in her throat. The whites of his eyes tinged with this blue light, and she felt the effects from it where she sat, kneeling in the gross Lowtown dirt as the thrumming energy seemed to hum a melody to her. Her ears caught it, just as he attacked. It was faint, like a whispered melody, but she still heard parts. 

Fenris made quick work of the men. Just because some were more sober than others didn’t mean that they weren’t still clumsy drunks. The first two swung for opposite sides of the male, and he ducked with the blade at a speed that she wouldn’t think possible with a weapon that bulky. He twirled through them, not unlike a ballerina (if she were in a better mood she might have snorted in amusement at the thought), his blade cutting through flesh like butter.

She was going to be sick. 

They were awful people, sure, but _death_? Ivy couldn’t watch, and closed her eyes tightly, hands clenched into fists in her now-dirtied skirt as she heard more grunting, and two more bodies hitting the floor. 

“Are you… alright?” The rasp caught her attention after a moment of silence, and Ivy unclenched her fingers only to place her hands over her eyes, slowly peeking through them like blinds. 

“You… you killed them,” the words left her lips before she could even think, shock making her numb to the _actual dead bodies_ in front of her. 

“Would you rather I just… stand back and let them have their way with you?” His voice was dry, and sarcasm dripped from each word, making her face scrunch up in annoyance. Half a mind to scold him for _murder_ and half a mind to mock his tone and grumpy disposition, Ivy settled in the middle, doing nothing besides letting out a defeated sigh. 

Pushing herself to stand was easy enough. ‘ _One step at a time, right?_ ’ she told herself, finding the motivation to walk toward her savior and away from the bodies lying prone in the street. 

“You’ve never seen a dead man before?” the white haired elf asked, a brow raised as his stormy green eyes trailed over her person. In contrast to the men (the now-dead men, as her brain cheerfully reminded her) before, this was the skilled gaze of a warrior checking her for wounds. Once deciding that she was only shaken up and not physically injured, he offered her a stiff nod before motioning her to follow.

“No, I haven’t. I don’t know how much Hawke spoke to you about me, but where I’m from, people don’t just… _kill_ people,” Ivy muttered, trying to piece together her sleeves so that they were somewhat presentable. “Why did you step in?” She shouldn’t have asked--the look of annoyance that crossed his features as she glanced at him from the side told her that much. Still, not about to take back her words, the brunette waited patiently for an answer as Fenris led her to where she hoped the Hanged Man was. 

“Those men were responsible for the death of a young woman last month,” his jaw clenched along with his fist, and she tilted her head, noticing how he was avoiding her gaze. 

“Why not let the city take care of it?” Ivy questioned, her brow furrowing lightly. Vigilantes were common romanticized ideas in pop-culture, but that didn’t mean she had met any. Until now, that was. “Aren’t they the ones supposed to persecute people like them?”

Fenris scoffed, the sound degrading in its own right as she turned her gaze forward once more. “She was elvehn.” He said it so poignantly, it must have meant something… but for the life of her, Ivy didn’t know what it was. 

“So?” His slight look of shock went by unnoticed as she stared off at the buildings ahead of them, trying to memorize her surroundings so something like this didn’t happen again. Unfortunately everything looked the damn same, and she scowled as if that might somehow make her remember the layout easier. Hugging her arms, she hummed a note--it was a Db, if anyone had been there to test her pitch. “I don’t think you’d lie to me; if those men were murderers then they needed to be brought to justice for their crime.”

“Shems don’t get very far in this world as idealists,” Fenris finally responded after a moment of silence, and her features remained puzzled as they walked in silence. 

* * *

It wasn’t an extensive walk back to the Hanged Man, but for some reason to Fenris it felt like a life time. In all honesty, the male felt uncomfortable around the woman. When they had first discovered Ivynell in the bloodmage hideout, something about her felt… unnatural. Well, at least that was the best way he could describe it. Not to mention the fact that while being near her the first time, his tattoos throbbed. He was already in enough agony as it was so he had planned on avoiding the small, soft human at any cost. Besides, she was clearly some form of sheltered if she was still against him killing her would-be-attackers. He had groaned in annoyance when a frantic Meryll ran up to him near sundown, claiming how she’d somehow misplaced the woman from another world, leaving her to fend for herself--weaponless--somewhere in the Lowtown backstreets. 

It was coincidence that those men were there, and Fenris had never been one to shy away from a great opportunity when it was handed to him. He dared to glance at the woman out of the corner of his eye. Dressed in the common style of Kirkwall women, she didn’t look like she stood out too much. A beauty mark rested just under her left eye, and her right eyebrow was notched with a pale white scar from some old wound. His eyes narrowed at that observation--how did such a soft creature get a wound like that? And on her face?

“The scar--how’d you get it?” Ivy looked up at his question, her lips pursed as the brunette looked like she was about to ask him what scar he was talking about as he absentmindedly traced the location on his own face.. 

Her nose scrunched up as she shrugged. “I fell down some stairs.”

“S… Seriously?” He didn’t know what to make of this woman. She was either a fool or a genius, and Fenris was more inclined to believe the former over the latter. 

“Yep,” she brushed him off, not choosing to go into any more details on the matter. 

The silence was awkward, and both parties heaved a mental sigh of relief as they finally saw the morbid statuette sway slightly in the breeze, signalling that Fenris was free to go, his obligation to Meryll fulfilled. 

“Thank you,” the soft voice from beside him startled him slightly, the sentiment unnecessary in his line of work. “I guess I was so shocked I forgot to say that. So… thank you, for rescuing me.” Ivynell sighed, offering him a small, but genuine, smile as she moved toward the bar, eager to calm worries and disband whatever search party might have been created for her sake.

“Don’t… mention it…” Fenris nodded once more, his neck rigid in the action. It seemed as though this woman was more strange than he thought.

_‘She was elvehn.’_

_‘So?’_

Was she joking? He couldn’t be sure. Hawke had informed him that the brunette had little to no combat training whatsoever, and Aveline had offered to teach her. “Take up the guardswoman up on her suggestion,” he gruffly stated as he turned his back to her, “then my intervention won’t be necessary.”

...

“Oh, right…” Ivy blinked, watching Fenris’s retreating form. Thedas was weird, but the people that inhabited it seemed even more so. Taking a deep breath, Ivynell turned toward the double doors of the Hanged Man, preparing herself to get tackled by Meryll in a bone-crushing kind of way. Originally, she had hoped that she’d only have been in Kirkwall, and Thedas, for a few days so that combat training wouldn’t be necessary. Unfortunately for her, as a few days turned into a week, Ivy knew it was about time to learn how to protect herself. With a sigh, she pushed through the doors of the Hanged Man, convinced to talk to Aveline in the morning. She didn’t see how Fenris waited to make sure she was inside the bar before turning around to leave--much less the shake of his head as he mused silently over their odd conversation while slinking back to High Town as night settled over Kirkwall.


	3. Chapter 3

“Who knows, maybe you’ll be joining us on quests in no time!” Varric’s chipper voice did little to help wake the brunette up, the sun barely peeking over the sky as a yawn left her lips.

“I’m only training with Aveline for the purposes of self-defense,” Ivy shook her head firmly. She was adamant in that decision, anyway. “I don’t want to get tied up in any of your or Hawke’s mess, that’s for damn sure.” Varric laughed but didn’t comment, mumbling something under his breath that Ivy couldn’t hear. After Fenris had saved her the previous evening, she had walked into the Hanged Man to watch as Hawke threatened a man with a large blade, asking if he knew about her whereabouts. Thankfully it didn’t take much convincing to get the mage to let the poor drunk man go, because when he saw Ivy approach, he immediately dropped the weapon to scoop her up into a bearhug, which was rather uncomfortable given his armor and the spikes on his pauldron. 

Isabela immediately noted the state of her clothes, and Ivy had to retell her near-life-threatening experience so that the whole bar could hear it. Embarrassing. Now following the white haired elf’s advice, she had asked Varric to set her up for weapon’s training with Aveline--the sensible orange haired woman. Unfortunately that meant she’d have to train in Aveline’s free time _before_ her routes, which meant _early_ in the morning.

“Did you even sleep, Varric?” Ivy’s head tilted to one side, eyebrows furrowing in concern as she distinctly remembered falling asleep to some loud and animated shouting over some sort of card game that she didn’t understand. 

“Nah, I’ve got plenty of things to do and not enough time to do it in,” the dwarf waved her off half-heartedly, shaking his head. Ivynell scoffed but she didn’t say anything, knowing the dwarf must have had his reasons to keep himself up like this. Besides, she didn’t even pretend to know that she understood dwarves. There was a bed in his room, but Varric was just like… a permanent guest. Did Dwarves even sleep? She wasn’t sure, and she felt far too awkward to bother asking anyone (especially since Varric had gotten accustomed to writing down every little ‘weird’ thing she did, calling it “pure gold” as he scribbled on whatever paper he had on hand). Hightown was distinctly more pleasant, Ivy had decided, if you could ignore the disdain the nobles shared openly for any singular person they thought that was beneath them. It reminded her somewhat of the music critics back home.

Either that or the one percent. She had yet to decide.

She had yet to have been in the Viscount’s Keep, but the building was quite impressive. Varric commented about how it was an eyesore, but to her it was a piece of their history. A history that she didn’t understand, but that didn’t make it any less fascinating. The walls were a white alabaster, and tall--enormously so--and made her mere 5’6” feel like 4’6”. At the thought, her gaze unconsciously slid to Varric, wondering silently if the ego made up for the lack in height.

“--so all you gotta do is walk up those steps,” the dwarf pointed, and she blinked rapidly, trying to pay attention and sincerely hoping she hadn’t missed anything crucial. “Most of the guards will stay out of your way if you look like you know what you’re doing. There should be a door that leads to their mess hall, and at the end of that, a door that leads outside.That’s where you’ll find Aveline.”

“I… think I’ve got it.” Varric laughed at her dazed expression, causing a pink blush to dust across her sun-kissed cheeks. “It’s a lot of steps for being in a new environment! I don’t know how to act in a viscount’s keep!” Defending her naivete seemed futile, but the dwarf encouraged her forward with a wave of his arms.

“Go on! I’ll pick you up in a few hours,” Varric shooed her away, before heading for a different area of the keep. “I have some other business to attend to.” She didn’t know what that business was, but she figured it had something to do with their upcoming expedition, because Varric seemed rather excited. 

Left alone in the keep, she was painfully aware how out-of-place she was. Some of the finer intricacies of Thedas and specifically Kirkwall’s mannerism came in the form of the greetings they exchanged. She totally just thought a lot of them were saying “sir” to each other, but that was clearly wrong considering the feminine form was ‘serah,’ and the noble form was ‘messere’. 

“Fine day, serah,” a maid greeted her as she walked up the stairs, and Ivy blinked, nodding to the woman politely, still unsure which form she should respond with and avoiding the interactions altogether. The guards stationed at the door to the guard’s room looked tired--she couldn’t see much of their faces from behind their helmets, but their slightly slouched posture spoke words to their exhaustion. Varric was at least right about intent--Ivy strode straight through the barracks and into the guard’s dining hall, then walking out into the courtyard.

“Ah, Ivynell, it’s good to see you,” a distinct voice greeted her as she stepped into the courtyard, revealing the orange haired beauty, and Aveline was far more awake than Ivynell felt. “I have prepared a handful of weapons for you to try. Please choose one and we shall begin.”

“Good morning,” Ivynell sighed, not eager to start. The idea of self-defense made perfect sense--especially considering she didn’t want a repeat of the previous day. That being said, wanting to learn and actually learning was generally separated by the barriers of both skills and experience, both of which Ivy was sure she had none. Unless, of course, shooting a bow was like shooting a NERF gun, of which she had done 10-15 years ago as a child.

Somehow she doubted it.

It had taken a while to figure out which weapon suited her best. They started with the sword--it seemed easy enough, but having had no form of strength training, holding it up for long periods of time was really hard. Moving on to a spear, they ran into a similar issue (those were far more heavy than tv shows and movies made them out to be), so off to the bow it was. Aveline was a wonderfully patient woman, and the brunette wondered silently how she could put up with her bumbling around the training field. 

The bow was easier--or at least it would be if she could actually see. Ivynell didn’t really need glasses--it was just when things started to get far away that they got a little fuzzy. She had glasses back in London that she never wore considering she didn’t have a car and mostly walked or took public transit, but it became something that she noted especially while attempting to hit the bullseye. She thought of all the weapons they’d try, that this might be the one she’d get. Unfortunately, she kept snapping the bowstring on her thumb, the affected area now red and raw, thankfully deciding that maybe this wasn’t the weapon for her either before she broke the skin on her delicate hands.

Aveline noted that, actually. “Delicate, with calloused fingertips…?” she had questioned, when rubbing a soothing powder over the red angry skin on the side of her thumb. 

“Ah, I’ve played the piano since I was very little,” Ivynell nodded. “It was never my primary instrument, but I played.”

“Pee-anne-oh…?” Aveline sounded the word out carefully, shooting her a raised eyebrow. “An instrument? I’ve never heard of it.”  
“Have you heard of a clavichord? Or a harpsichord?” the brunette asked, her eyebrows furrowing as she bit her lip. It would be a little awkward if she couldn’t explain herself. Aveline nodded, some small flash of recognition in her eyes at the woman’s words.

“Clavichord… it sounds familiar. I think I once knew a nobleman who played one. It’s like a writing desk, but with little... levers?”

“Yes,” Ivy smiled, secretly relieved she didn’t have to explain to the no-nonsense woman what it was. “Basically that.” Once her left hand had been taken care of, Aveline walked back over to an armory, coming back with two small daggers. The edges were curved, and they looked shiny and unused. 

“Alright, if this doesn’t suit you, I’m not sure what will,” Aveline offered her a thin lipped smile, and Ivy had to remind herself what Hawke had told her about his knight-friend.

‘ _Aveline often means well, but she’s particularly blunt! Good luck!_ ’

“Right, I feel like I can use a dagger.” That seemed like it’d be easier said than done, but hopefully the… last time’s the charm. Thankfully, whatever deity belonged in this world seemed to have been listening, because Aveline was quick to notice how well the small blade fit in Ivy’s hand.

“Hopefully you won’t ever have to use this,” Aveline nodded as she instructed her how to swing. “But here in Kirkwall, there are plenty of dangerous places that you might find yourself in, and you must learn to protect yourself.” That was, of course, her whole purpose for arriving here today, but as the sun began to raise, Aveline’s eyes kept drifting toward the door back into the barracks.

Wiping sweat from her brow, Ivy stood up from her stance. “If you have to go, Aveline, please don’t feel obligated to stay with me. I think I can manage to not hurt myself until Varric comes back to pick me up.”

“Very well, you seem to be coming along nicely anyways,” she nodded, conceding and moving toward the door. “Come back tomorrow morning as well, I’ll show you how to throw them, too.” Her smile was small and her demeanor was stiff, but the longer Ivynell spent with the guardswoman, the more she began to realize that maybe Aveline wasn’t entirely used to being around women. That being said, she also appeared to be a little tightly wound--in general--but the brunette liked the woman’s no-nonsense nature, and she appreciated her willingness to teach Ivy self-defense. At least, in this regard, Ivy wouldn’t have to rely on Hawke or any one of his companions to save her constantly.

As she had been training, plenty of guards were milling about before their various patrols, some watching her with interest, others paying her no mind. The staring was a bit much, but she ignored them in favor of actually trying to learn something from practicing the forms that Aveline had taught her. Something told her that she was going to be sore the next day, but she had never been one to back down from a challenge, much less a bit of hard work. 

That was how she fell into a routine in Kirkwall. Each morning she would wake up early and walk either with Varric or on her own to the Viscount’s Keep, and train with Aveline until she had to leave for her rounds. Then she’d do practice on her own, before returning to the Hanged Man to have a nap, because she never got to sleep at the right time with the ruckus that was always happening in the bar just down the stairs from her room. Soon waking up after, she would steal herself away to practice her singing and techniques (usually on the roof to avoid curious patrons), before singing her set for her room and meals in the bar. Each night she pushed the genre a little bit more into the “fun stuff.” As a Vocal Performance major, Ivynell rarely got to sing jazz or musical theater unless she begged to do so, and even then it was hard to convince her vocal coaches to let her sing anything besides artsongs, arias, lieder, and sonatas. 

Slowly, she began to see an increase in her crowd--most of the time there was boisterous, animated, and even drunken chatter over her vocals, and she lamented the absence of a good accompanist, but that didn’t stop certain songs from silencing the room. Varric requested a repeat of a song that she had recalled from the Pirates of the Carribean film series which she was more than happy to do, the haunting melody quieting the room. Still, just because she was singing what she would consider more “fun” pieces, and just because the atmosphere of the venu was more relaxed than what Ivy was used to, that didn’t mean that she was going to allow herself to slack off in terms of proper vocal technique. 

It scared Ivy, some days, how easy it had been to fall into a routine. Kirkwall was strange, and lacking the comforts of modern civilization was something she bemoaned often on her own in the privacy of her room in the Hanged Man. Still afraid of how her “modern” knowledge might affect this world, even though it seemed entirely apart from the world she knew, Ivy rarely spoke to Hawke or Varric about her home. Just telling them enough to convince them that it was incredibly different from Thedas in almost every way. The more she stayed in Kirkwall, the more she began to notice the little things from different individuals, how people acted, picking up on accents and what regions they belonged to (even if she couldn’t have pointed to them on a map). 

It was maybe about four days into training with Aveline that Ivy began to notice something weird going on in the barracks. Ivy had been getting better at throwing her knives, that didn’t mean her aim was any better, but at least she was getting consistent. Aveline had just left for her routes, leaving Ivy to practice with both knives in her hands, and as she was throwing, out of the corner of her eye some extra shiny armor glared at her. Wasn’t that… Captain Jevlan? She’d seen the man once--Varric had pointed him out to her one day while in the keep. She wasn’t particularly fond of his grisled and stern expression, and that’s how she recognized him. His business outside, however, seemed quite questionable. Ivynell kept herself busy, going through her movements with her knives (she had recently upgraded herself to wielding both at the same time), but was keeping an eye on the man while doing so. He was looking to and fro, pupils beady as they glared at any of the guardsmen walking by, as if daring them to question what he was doing. They of course ignored him, eager to fly under the radar and not get any extra intense routes from their captain, but the way that he seemed so defensive really rubbed Ivy the wrong way. It took Ivynell a moment to realize that perhaps he was looking for something--or someone--with how he scanned his guardsmen as they walked past. 

It only took a momentary distraction for Ivy to lose sight of Captain Jevlan, but once she looked back, he had disappeared. Finding this behavior particularly odd, she paid attention the following days, and without fault, as soon as the first guardsmen (Aveline included) left for their routes, Jevlan would appear. He loitered around for a bit, looking for something, and then a particularly short guardsman appeared, taking something from the captain and then they’d both disappear in opposite directions. It could have been a coincidence--Ivy didn’t pretend to understand the intricacies of the Kirkwall guard. That being said… the timing, and how it kept happening consistently, made a little voice in the back of her head wonder if it was more than just coincidence. Besides, no man doing something morally sound looked around for prying eyes as much as Captain Jevlan did in these moments.

On the fifth day of this happening, Ivynell was getting ready to tell Aveline--this whole thing seemed shady, and Kirkwall, as she had come to understand, was definitely not safe. The little voice of warning in the back of her head kept telling her that she couldn’t trust anyone outside of the small circle of friends that she had made. Fenris’s distrust of the government here also spoke loudly into her mistrust of whatever it was the captain was doing. She hadn’t known the white-haired elf for very long, but if Hawke and Varric trusted him then she would too (not to mention the fact that he hadn’t needed to save her life and did so anyway). 

Watching the interaction, the shorter guard dashed away once more, and Ivy paused, finally getting a good glance at what had been exchanged. Gold shown from the bag (sovereigns, from what Ivy remembered Varric teaching her about Kirkwallian currency), and her eyes narrowed in concern. ‘ _The guards get paid to work, of course, but definitely not_ **_that_ ** _much_.’ she contemplated silently, unaware of a pair of eyes zeroing in on her figure.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” a gruff voice nearly made Ivynell jump out of her skin, and she blinked owlishly at the captain, who had beelined straight for her upon actually noticing a civilian in the barracks. 

“O-Oh, excuse me Captain,” his eyes narrowed slightly at her stutter, and she brought her weapons down to appear less frightened. “I’m no one--just a singer at the Hanged Man. I asked the guard to help me learn how to defend myself from particularly handsy patrons.”

“A bard…?” his gaze only seemed to grow harsher as she tried not to curl into herself under his scrutiny. “You’re… not from Kirkwall. You from Fereldan? The Anderfels? Not Orlais or Antiva based on the accent…” as he seemed to try to figure her out, the brunette refused to answer him, simply because she didn’t really have one. Hawke had suggested that she tell people that she was a refugee from Fereldan just like he and Carver (and Aveline too, as she found out later), but for whatever reason she froze. “Well keep to your own business and we won’t have _trouble_ , right?” The threat wasn’t well concealed, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to acknowledge it. 

“Right, that’s why I’m, uh… learning!” she nodded, the eagerness in her voice sounding fake, and making her wince. “To stay out of trouble.” 

“Right…” Captain Jevlan drew out the word in a way that made her increasingly uncomfortable, but she held the fake smile until he had disappeared back into the den of the barracks. A breath that she hadn’t realized she had been holding escaped from her lips, and she closed her eyes, her knives falling from her hands. Her hold on them had unknowingly turned her knuckles white on the plain hilts, making her hands ache slightly in the absence of the vice-like grip. Breathing deeply, Ivynell decided that maybe today would be a day to return back home early.

Home.

The thought made her blanch unconsciously. The Hanged Man was certainly not her _home_. Nor even was the place she had been pulled from, but she still wanted desperately to go back to her own world. At least on her earth, she knew that if she called the police, they would arrive swiftly and relatively timely (most of the time) and she had a device in her pocket that could summon whoever she wanted and deter crazy stalkers. Kirkwall, and Thedas, was so limited and she felt so lost here. 

It was a civilly uncivil society, and it was all so strange. 

So lost in her own thoughts, on the way back to the bar, Ivynell had failed to see the individuals tailing her, tracking her back to the Hanged Man before fleeing into the entrance to Darktown. 

* * *

The next morning, Ivy felt uneasy from the beginning. That should have been her first warning to avoid going out for the day. The crowd from the previous night in the Hanged Man had been particularly rowdy, partying late into the night (or early into the morning) and adding to her constant lack of sleep. That and she persistently had the feeling of being watched throughout the evening. Of course, when she was singing people were paying attention to her, that was nothing new. But in particular, this was something that felt distinctly more sinister, and Ivy shivered at the thought. Her knives were sitting weightily in a holster on her thigh, and she hummed to try and clear her throat and her nerves at the same time before announcing to Varric that she was leaving for the keep as she passed his room (though whether or not he was awake to hear it was a mystery). 

She had barely left the Hanged Man when she felt those eyes upon her again, and she immediately turned to scope out her surroundings. Lowtown had its familiar vendors and loiterers, and despite her unease everyone seemed to be just the normal-level of shady. Her blue eyes narrowed slightly, brow furrowing in concern. The knives became heavier against her thighs as she continued, and it wasn’t until she felt someone walking behind her that she began picking up her pace. This had to have something to do with Jevlan’s warning--she wasn’t convinced by her feigning ignorance either--either that or he was just being thorough, which meant he was doing something _really_ shady. 

A wall of dwarves appeared in front of her when she rounded the corner, cutting her off from the stairs. Her lips pursed and she turned to walk back the way that she had come, only to find that she had been cut off, dwarves in similar armor appearing behind her. So she wasn’t paranoid. Her eyes widened in sudden, silent revelation--the short guard must have been a dwarf--if he was one of these guys, did that mean he was even a guard at all? Her gaze narrowed and she felt her muscles tense up. Her fight or flight was telling her to get the hell out of there, but her gaze kept straying to the glinting weapons that each one held in their hands. 

“A rumour told us some wayward bard was a little too nosey for her own good,” a dwarf stepped forward, and she could barely see a thick beard underneath the helmet. Another stepped up from behind her, and she spun slowly, trying not to turn her back to a single one. 

“You must have me mistaken for someone else,” her first instinct was to once more feign

ignorance. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, now let me pass.” Her voice sounded far more confident than she felt, remembering her previous encounter with a large group of thugs. It took everything within her not to let her knees knock together in fear.

“Whether or not you know what’s going on is no longer important,” the spokesperson for this little gang continued, and Ivy’s hands drew to where her knives hid tucked into the pleats of her dress’s skirt. Her gaze slid past them, looking for any sort of passersby who might help her out, but the street was distinctly void of any helpful persons, and her heart sank. Wasn’t this the exact reason she was trying to learn from Aveline? But could she really fight against someone--much less a whole group of seemingly trained thugs? 

Definitely not--she wasn’t stupid.

“Come quietly,” a new voice spoke. This individual seemed cocky, hence the lack of protective helmet. His bald head was covered in tattoos, and his thick mustached grin made her wince in discomfort. “We get extra sovereigns if you reach the slaver’s… ‘ _unspoiled_ ’.” Ivy didn’t even pretend she wanted to understand what that meant, a disgusted shiver trailing up and down her spine.

“Let me go, or I promise you, you will regret it.” When she finally spoke again, Ivy slowly drew the knives from their holsters, doing her best to steel her nerves, despite how utterly terrified she was. Her grip was shaking, and they laughed as she brought the weapons up in a defensive position. 

“You think some never-been-used butter knives are going to intimidate the Carta?” The bald dwarf grinned widely, his amusement at her fear quite obvious. “Nah, c’mon lass. Put the blades down and come quietly.”

Her eyes widened as one dwarf appeared at her side, tugging at her arm and trying to wrestle the one weapon out of her hand. Her left knife fell uselessly into the dirt, and Ivy blindly swung at her assailant with the other knife, and he backed off from her wild swing as the others laughed. More were getting bolder, as she turned, trying to keep them back with one knife. She doubted it would account for much of anything--only crazy people were awake this early in the morning.

“Help! ANYONE!” she shrieked, taking a deep breath to yell as loudly as she could. “PLEASE!” 

“Scream all you want, _no one’s_ coming!” the bald dwarf laughed loudly, and Ivynell growled, her throat already raw--screaming wasn’t good for singing, but she could risk her voice for a few nights to avoid being carted off to god-knows-where as some sort of side-show attraction. The more the bald dwarf laughed, the more she felt anger surge through her being. Ivy was scared. She was terrified of dying in this strange world, of being assaulted and of the evil that festered here out in the open. She didn’t doubt that it happened on earth, but it was mostly behind closed doors and carefully hidden--Kirkwall was open with its sin, like a festering wound.

Ivy wasn’t exactly religious but these people needed Jesus.

The more she was taunted, and the more bold the dwarves got with her wild swinging, the more sense started to leave her being. He needed to be quiet. His laughing had to stop, she _had_ to stop him. No one was coming for her, not this time. 

Kicking up sand from the ground toward the dwarves on one side, Ivynell spun to face her verbal assailant, the hilt still left in her hand comfortable, and turning easily as she remembered what Aveline had told her. You threw with the rotations of the hilt in mind, and the speed in which you flicked your wrist determined that rotation speed. The knife released from her hand and the world seemed to slow down, her eyes widening in surprise as the instinct took over and sent the knife hurtling toward the bald dwarf…

* * *

Fenris blinked wearily, the early morning not being his problem, but more so the amount of alcohol he had consumed the night prior. Hawke wanted to get a move on early this morning, considering they were supposed to be heading out over to the Bone Pits, but he didn’t see the point. A few miners were burned, rumors of a dragon… everything seemed a little far-fetched in his opinion. His mind wandered to their group’s newest stray and his brow naturally furrowed at the thought. Of course, her story was for more… weird, so he supposed if he could buy that Ivynell was from a different world then maybe a dragon in the Free Marches wasn’t as bad of a rumor as he thought. 

“Broody, good to see ya!” A chipper voice made him wince, and his eyes narrowed as he turned over to watch as Varric walked up. “You ready for this assignment? Sounds pretty fun!”

“Maybe for one of your stories, but if there somehow is a dragon there, it’ll be hell for us,” Fenris clipped, his eyes narrowed. Varric shook him off with a grin, looking over Bianca to make sure that she was in perfect working order (Varric didn’t let her get any less than perfect but he still checked) as they both waited for Hawke. “Garrett is late,” Fernis’s observation was met with a hum.

“Don’t worry about Hawke, he’ll be here,” the dwarf’s faith was admirable at least, but Fenris didn’t always appreciate his time being wasted. Thankfully, it only took a few more agitating moments before the man in question jogged from around a corner, a wide grin on his face as he straightened his left pauldron. 

“Sorry about that,” he apologized, tipping his head to both of them as he smiled cheekily. “I was… preoccupied.”

“At the Rose again?” Varric’s sly grin was telling, and when Hawke looked away Fenris rolled his eyes. “What about Isabela, weren’t you two ‘testing the waters’?” 

“I don’t wish to discuss this,” Fenris’s voice flat-toned, his green eyes narrowed in annoyance.

“We’re not mutually exclusive,” Hawke shrugged, thankfully changing the subject after giving Varric just enough info to satisfy his writer’s curiosity. “So, dragon hunting! I haven’t actually fought one. I’ve been rescued and saved by one, but that’s definitely a grey area considering she was also a witch.” Fenris did not appear amused, nor did he feel amused either.

“Let’s just get this over with…” the white haired elf muttered, rolling his shoulders back in attempt to smooth the tension that lay between his shoulder blades. 

“It needn’t sound like a _chore_ , Fen,” Hawke teased, elbowing the elf with a snicker.

“-NYONE!” The noise startled all three of them, their attention snapping to the sound of a cry for help that echoed off the walls of Lowtown. “PLEASE!”

“That sounds like trouble,” Hawke grimaced, his expression immediately sobering to something more serious. “We should probably make sure no one is getting murdered.”

“Or worse,” Varric winced, Fenris nodding as they all ran in the direction of the screaming. No one should have been around this early. “I hope Ivy’s already at the keep,” Varric mentioned offhandedly as they ran, notching a few bolts in Bianca. 

“You let her go on her own?” Hawke asked, looking to the dwarf out of the corner of his eyes.

“She’s got a few day’s training under her belt--she’s not exactly helpless,” Varric seemed to have a lot of confidence in the stranger, and Fenris didn’t share his thoughts.

“I think you have too much faith in her to hurt someone--even if it’s for her own safety,” the elf’s voice was clipped, speaking from observation alone. “She’s far too soft.”

Fenris didn’t realize that rounding the corner meant that he’d have to immediately eat his words. He recognized the outfits, as the dwarven members who wore them were clearly Carta members, however, he was surprised, because in the middle of them stood Ivy. He wondered if maybe the scream they had heard before had been hers. One quick sweep of the playing field told him that it was likely, considering the distinct absence of other people in the area.

The part that made him eat his words, however, was the shining hilt of a knife sticking out of the forehead of a carta member. Thankfully, they seemed to have arrived in the nick of time before the members had time to react to Ivy’s kill. The girl herself looked far more pale than usual, Fenris noted with narrowed gaze, her hand still stuck in the follow-through position from the throw. Hawke was the first to leap into battle, putting distance between the carta members and the trembling brunette by twirling his staff and focusing a cold blast of air at the dwarves. Fenris closed his eyes and let the searing fire of his lyrium tattoos come to life, slicing through three carta members in a single sweep from behind. Ivy didn’t react to the death happening around her, even as Varric shouldered Bianca, picking up one of her discarded knives and pressing the hilt into her trembling fingers. 

Focused on fighting, and making quick work of the remaining members, Fenris missed how Ivy winced as though she had been burned by the feel of the knife in her hands, and he also missed the way that she numbly responded to Varric’s questions.

The fight was over quickly--Hawke’s magic was definitely enough to outclass the dwarves in every inch of the fight, keeping his projectile magic widespread and controlling the field until none were left standing, either by his hand or Fenris cleaning up after his wake of destruction. 

“Well, that’s the regular-old “Kirkwall Welcome,” wouldn’t you say, Varric?” Hawke joked, pulling the knife out of the forehead of the carta member that Ivy had killed, cleaning the blade off with a cloth. Fenris was wiping his blade on one of the body’s clothes, his attention turning back to their singer and the dwarf, just in time to see Varric shoot Hawke a rare ‘not now,’ kind of look, his eyebrows furrowed in concern as he looked over Ivynell. Hawke’s expression was quick to change with the nonverbal scolding, and he jogged over, pocketing the knife for the time being. “Hey Ivy, you’re alright… right? They didn’t hurt you or anything.”

She shook her head, and Fenris’ eyes narrowed. Clearly something wasn’t right--and her expression told him everything. It was a look he was all-too-familiar with, considering he had seen it on the faces of plenty of slaves. Ones who had known they had made a grave mistake, and didn’t doubt that they were going to get punished for it. He remembered vaguely, her idealistic view of justice and how it should be handled from their last conversation, and he nearly took a step closer. If he hadn’t already believed that she wasn’t from Thedas, then this expression would have told him all he needed to know. She was far too soft for this life… though… his green gaze slid back over to the man she had killed. Clearly not _too_ soft, considering she had seemingly defended herself. 

“The carta wouldn’t take this many members to kidnap or kill someone in broad daylight,” Varric commented lowly, his gaze troubled. “Songbird… who’d you piss off to get the coterie on your tail?”

“I…” she coughed, the sound nearly making Fenris wince. She sounded pathetic… and like she could use a glass of water. “I think I saw something… While training with Aveline, I noticed the captain handing money off to a guard who was a dwarf. He saw me watching him, I guess, because he questioned why I was there.” Her blue eyes trailed on each one of them for a moment, before looking down to her hands where she gripped the knife that Varric had placed back into her hand. Quickly sheathing it, she looked around for the other one, her skin paling a bit again--no doubt thinking she’d have to fetch it from where it had been embedded in a dead man’s body--but she sighed softly in relief when Hawke gave it to her, already clean. 

“He was paying the carta?” Varric mulled the idea over, his eyes glinting. “That certainly can’t be good.” 

“Aveline will want to know about this,” Hawke nodded. “Fenris, take Ivy back to the Hanged Man.” The elf rose an eyebrow--since when was he consistently on babysitting duty? He opened his mouth to argue, much more willing to go bust open some sort of conspiracy rather than awkwardly accompany the naive brunette back to the Hanged Man. However, a rare show of pleading in Hawke’s expression had him pausing. Refusing the urge to growl in annoyance, Fenris sighed, a nod following the sound. 

“We’ll go see what we can share with Aveline,” Varric took charge, gently pushing Ivynell in the elf’s direction before flashing the shaken young woman with a grin. “You did good, kiddo. You saved yourself before we even got here.” Ivynell nodded in response, but she otherwise didn’t speak, or meet Varric’s gaze, which had Fenris’s gaze on her being. He also recognized the guilt in that action, but he chose not to call her out in front of Varric and Hawke. In fact, it really didn’t feel like it was his place to say anything. Well, aside from the obvious ‘try not to get targeted’ but that one felt just the tiniest bit insensitive, considering how shaken up she seemed.

Fenris was blunt, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew when to just keep his mouth shut at least (which was more than Hawke or Varric could say, most of the time.”

“C’mon,” Fenris’s shoulders were rigid as he curtly motioned his head in the right direction. “I think that’s enough ‘practice’ for one day.”

“And maybe a lifetime…” the words were spoken under her breath, and probably not intended for anyone, but he heard it anyway. 

And so Ivynell and Fenris found themselves on another silent walk back to the Hanged Man. The further they seemed to get from the ‘crime scene’, the more the light pink undertones returned to her skin. 

“We… really gotta stop meeting like this,” Ivy finally broke the tension with a poorly timed joke about halfway back. Fenris looked over at her, expression blank as she laughed nervously, immediately looking away from his intense gaze.

“Trouble seems to follow you nearly as closely as it does Hawke,” he finally responded, which was short and brief. He had no desire to continue the conversation any further for the sake of small-talk, so they finished the walk in silence. All the while, Fenris couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in her head…

.

And wasn’t that a coincidence, because Ivy was lost up there, and nearly too far gone by this point. She could still hear the sound of the blade sinking into the dwarf’s skin. Sure, he had been teasing her, and an asshole, and threatening her was definitely _not_ the worst thing he had ever did (probably). Ivy still couldn’t get it out of her head that she had actually taken someone’s life. An actual, living human--well, not human thanks to being a dwarf in the non-existent but oh-so existent, Thedas. But that didn’t change the fact in her mind that someone was actually dead, and she had done it. 

So preoccupied in her existential crisis, Ivy barely registered that Fenris was pushing her into the Hanged Man with a gauntlet-clad hand, allowing herself to be steered through the mainly-empty main floor, and up toward the rooms. It wasn’t until Fenris turned to leave that she seemed to break out of her spell of shock, turning to look to the elf with wide blue eyes. 

“Wait.” He did, and she didn’t know why she called out to him. She felt so lost, her lips parting and then closing without anything coming out. She didn’t want to waste his time so much--she’d already been such a burden on him. And on Varric, and Hawke, and the rest of them as well. “I… I’m sorry, I must seem so weak to you.” Fenris didn’t move and neither did Ivy. He stood, unflinchingly in the doorway of her room as she fished for more words to say. He didn’t say anything to correct her words, but he also wasn’t leaving immediately due to her last-minute request, so she took that as the green light to keep talking, and pretty soon words were spilling from her lips.

“I’m naive, I get it. Especially when it comes to this world. My world, in comparison, is very advanced, and very sheltered. I live--or have lived a very comfortable life.” It was true, what people said about how people often don’t realize what they have until it’s stripped away. Or you’re stripped away from _it_ , in Ivy’s case. “Hell, the most thinking I have to do about my safety is whether or not gas station sushi is worth the stomach ache it may or may not give me after eating it.” Fenris remained silent, like a sentinel in her doorway, arms limp at his sides, but his frame failed to lack power. He was quite broad in the shoulders for being so lanky, which probably aided in wielding those gigantic things he called swords on his back. “I don’t deal with death. Not like this, anyway. I-I would never dream of killing _anyone_ , it’s not right…! Even if they did something horrible, I have no right to play God with someone’s life like that, I j-just…” as she began spiraling the tears started, and Fenris remained impassive. 

But she was grateful for that actually. Ivy wasn’t sure how she would have responded if he had tried to sympathize with her just because she was releasing her emotions in the form of hot, salty tears streaking down her cheeks. 

“But I had to defend myself, who knows what they had planned, or if they were just going to kill m-me, I have no idea,” she blubblered, shaking her head, and sitting down on the bed, the old mattress offering a pathetic wheeze in protest at the weight. Holding her head in her hands, she trembled as silent sobs wracked her body. Had she cried since arriving in Thedas? Ivy couldn’t remember, but all of a sudden it felt as if a thousand different emotions were swirling through her, and she felt her shoulders sag at the weight of it all. “I hate crying…” she mumbled from behind her hands, and she could still feel Fenris’s gaze on her being. “Where I’m from, it’s seen as a stereotypical ‘woman’ thing, and I’ve tried to be better than that notion my whole life. I’ve been so ‘strong’ in front of others no matter what, and now look at me!” She tried to laugh, though the sound came out more like a strangled cough as wheezed. “I killed one man and it makes me an absolute wreck. How pathetic.” 

“I would be more concerned if you didn’t feel anything,” Fenris spoke clearly, his tone impossible to read as Ivy lifted her head in mild shock. He didn’t offer anything else, but he did move to lean against the door frame, one hand sliding over to hold his opposite bicep as the other hand rested on the belt at his hips. 

“True,” she sniffled, trying to wipe her eyes. “I guess I’m just… so frustrated, and confused, a-and scared. Like… what if there really is no way to get me home? What if I’m stuck here?” She hung her head, once more avoiding looking at him--she hadn’t meant it as an insult, Thedas was interesting, but so much more dangerous. “I’m… I-I don’t want to die… there hasn’t been a ‘big’ war where I’m from in at least 30 years! I just…” she trailed off, unsure of what else to say. Scared, alone, and utterly helpless to this strange world that made absolutely no sense to the brunette. Ivy was more lost than she could have ever imagined--they definitely didn’t show this depressing side of not being where you were supposed to be in _The Wizard of Oz_. At least not to the extent of what Ivynell felt. They sat/stood in silence again, though as Ivynell’s tears dried, she couldn’t help but feel like just a little bit of that stress had left in her outburst. She didn’t doubt that she’d have nightmares come sundown, but at least for now she had let out some of her pent up frustration and anger over everything that she’d done a good job of bottling inside during the incident.

Taking a deep breath, Ivy’s blue gaze swept back up to Fenris, his expression still unreadable. Her gaze was still a little watery, but she still managed a small, shaky smile. “Thank you, Fenris.”

“For what…?” his tone held genuine bewilderment, even if all his face did was scrunch up slightly at her words. 

“For staying. For listening. I’ve been so overwhelmed, and you always manage to catch me at my worst,” the brunette shrugged, biting a lip nervously. “You could have easily left but you didn’t, and I… appreciate it.”

“Sure…” he mumbled, gaze flitting back out into the hallway. “I suppose Hawke’s not going to get out to Bone Pits today.” He didn’t miss how Ivy snorted incredulously at the name. “So… I suppose I’ll loiter about downstairs.” He left by closing her door, and without so much as a goodbye, but she supposed that him doing so abruptly, but mentioning that he’d be staying downstairs was his own little way of saying ‘if you need something, you know where to find me’. 

Ivy appreciated it. Fenris might have been prickly, and truly “broody” as Varric described, but despite that he had a good heart. It didn’t take long to see it at all. In fact, Hawke seemed to surround himself with questionable people, though for whatever reason, all of their hearts seemed to line up in the same place morally (give or take a few pressing social issues), and Ivy realized just how lucky she was to have met this group of individuals. 

She was glad they had been the ones to find her.

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction is inspired by Calescent's "Out of Tune" but all added story elements are my own. I just wanted to acknowledge their similarities in case someone asks, because yes, I LOVE their book. Mine's just different.


End file.
